Pain of a Word
by Jennifer Longbottom
Summary: Kind of angsty. Neville has certain powers - like seeing through disguises - but he's been threatened with death if he speaks to anyone about Moody...this is just mainly a story about the Longbottoms being attacked. The last bit just came. I didn't even k


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Pain of a Word

A/N: Short and sweet. You know what's mine, don't you?

Frank Longbottom laughed at his children's antics. The one-year-old Neville grappled with his sister Patricia, who was six. The two rolled over and over, giggling playfully.

"Trish, time for your medicine!" called her mother.

Trish pulled a face, and went in to receive the hated potion. Still, if it cured those fits, then it was worth it. Mind you, they could be useful sometime…

Charlotte Avery paced the floor of a small room where she and her friends had planned the many deaths and tortures they were responsible for. Now there were very few left - or, to be precise, very few loyal Death Eaters who weren't in Azkaban or dead.

Charlotte was not pretty, as looks go. She had thick, shining dark hair, and heavy-lidded eyes, giving the impression that she hardly ever slept. Actually, she fell asleep at precisely ten o'clock at night, and woke if she needed to at midnight, eleven, one, two - any hour of the night or early morn. Otherwise she would wake at seven in the morning.

Her three companions weren't very attractive either, with the exception of the youngest, just a teenager. His straw-coloured hair and pale face sprinkled with freckles could look so innocent at times…and more, he was a powerful wizard _and_ son of a wizard powerful in another sense. A valuable ally. The second, a thin man who was ever afraid of being caught, had nervous, darting eyes. His colleague, Morgan Rosier, (brother of that esteemed _dead_ Death Eater) was thickset, often looking completely gormless, but nevertheless very adept with curses.

"Barty," said the thin man, "are you _sure_ we'll be able to pull this off?"

Barty waved an impatient hand. "Of course. And even if we do get caught, we'll still lose my dad his position in the Ministry, and that'll do a world of good for the others. And Master cannot say that we renounced him if we are caught, and that is the world itself."

Charlotte tossed back her long hair. "I don't believe that you betrayed your father to become one of us."

Barty laughed. "I always was one of you. I used to heckle Dad day and night for every bit of knowledge he possessed. Mind you, that Pettigrew's a suck up, and it's sickening to watch. That in itself could put the light out."

"Yes," mused Charlotte. "You have a point. I'd deal with him personally, but he's in hiding now. And besides, he was one of Master's best, even if he was a half-Squib. He was a good spy."

"But maybe he ratted on Master!" snapped Barty angrily. "Maybe it was all a trick! Perhaps he became those damned Potters' Secret-Keeper because he knew, when he betrayed them, Master would be destroyed because of that little creature - their son!"

"Quiet, Barty," said Morgan. He himself was looking disturbed - a rare incident, he never showed his feelings. "We are looking to bring Master back to health and power. But first we must find out where he is. And those people - the Longbottoms - will know _if_ there is anything to know. They were right in Dumbledore's inner circle."

Barty had cooled off. "You're right, Morgan. But I just - "

"I know. But Master may want to deal with Pettigrew himself. Let him decide, for he is a wise and clever man."

Barty smiled wistfully. "I know he is. And a brave one, too. We are very alike, the Dark Lord and I. We both hate our fathers, and hopefully I, like him, will have the pleasure of _killing_ my father."

"True, true," allowed Morgan. "Now, let's get going."

It was almost midnight when there was a ring at the door. Frank got up to answer it.

He turned slightly pale as he saw the masked figures, but kept his composure for the most part.

"Who are you?" he asked, although he was sure his guess was right - who else visited houses in the middle of the night, wearing black from head to toe - even wearing masks!

"You know who we are," replied Charlotte, her voice low and dangerous. "Let us pass!"

"No. Never."

"Never is a strong word. Let us think - _Expelliarmus_!"

Frank's wand flew up in a high arc, and he was blasted off his feet. Anne, his wife, ran to him, and knelt at his side, ignoring the Death Eaters, who strode in. Her children were well hidden; she had made sure of that.

"_Silentio_," murmured Barty. It was the Blanketing Charm.

"_Crucio_."

The pain was unbearable, and they both screamed.

"Where is the Dark Lord?" demanded Barty.

"Don't…know…" gasped out Frank between screams of agony.

"Where is he?" spat Morgan, heightening the pain.

"Don't…_care_!" cried Anne, writhing on the ground.

"Morgan, keep them on the curse," ordered Charlotte. "Barty and I will see to those kids. Come on."

Barty followed her up the stairs. Their names were Patricia and Neville, he thought. That was always important.

"Trish!" called out Charlotte in imitation of Anne. Barty, who knew it was a trick specially designed for children, was almost fooled, and then remembered his cue.

"Neville!" he sang out, replying to Charlotte's call.

Patricia was fooled, even if Barty wasn't. She crawled out from her hiding place, and ran towards the voice.

She found out her mistake too soon. Just as she was about to leap into her mother's arms, she crumpled to the floor. All with one whisper.

"Neville!" Barty yelled again.

Neville was just about to follow Patricia when Morgan howled up the stairs.

"Here come the Aurors! Disapparate!"

Two seconds later, the Death Eaters had all vanished. But the Aurors had arrived too late for their colleagues. Patricia Longbottom was dead, Frank and Anne Longbottom were insane, only Neville had been saved out of the once happy family.

This came back to the mind of the fourteen-year-old boy, staring white and terrified at the wooden-legged Auror. From his hiding place he had seen the Cruciatus Curse, and those who were performing it. He couldn't remember his sister, but he remembered the face of her killer. The same face that was teaching him now.

His grandmother liked him to learn extra things during the holidays. One particularly useful talent was to see through people, see their _real_ personality.

And he had practised and practised, until he could see through Polyjuice Potion, see the real face underneath.

It was Barty Crouch.


End file.
